


five times dr. mccoy needed information and one time he wished he didn't

by UniversalSatan



Series: bones suffers for the noble cause of science [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Comedy, James T. Kirk is a Mess, M/M, POV Leonard "Bones" McCoy, Pon Farr, Poor Bones, there's mckirk if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:21:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26440315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UniversalSatan/pseuds/UniversalSatan
Summary: Also known as5 times Kirk was in the Sickbay for sketchy reasons and the 1 time it was just really gross.
Relationships: James T. Kirk & Leonard "Bones" McCoy, James T. Kirk/Spock
Series: bones suffers for the noble cause of science [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1931074
Comments: 11
Kudos: 237





	five times dr. mccoy needed information and one time he wished he didn't

**Author's Note:**

> okay so. real talk. i can't _believe_ this is my first fic for star trek. i had a better idea that i actually started first (where, coincidentally, bones is still suffering) but then of course i went and hammered out this short prompt when i should've been working on my dcbb fic (which comes out mid november aha ;p). 
> 
> loosely inspired by that one tweet of that legend that ended up in the ER for sucking huge dick, thanks king.
> 
> also thanks to the triumvirate server for. uh. endorsing me. and giving me the one idea; you know which one it is, trig :^) and thank you abba for keeping my brain boppin in order to finish the last half of this prompt. unbetad because i'm an impatient dumbass

It is not an unusual occurrence for Bones to dread the next given period of time when he sees Jim crawling into the Sickbay. In fact, he’d say he actually regrets not accompanying the landing party on their previous mission.

(This is a lie. As a friend, he regrets not accompanying the landing party. As a decent human being, he’s perfectly delighted to stay behind.)

“ _Dammit_ , Jim: why didn’t you beam up earlier?” he scolds his friend, setting up a biobed instead of helping him across the room. 

Jim’s signature grin is too blinding for a limping individual. “Battle scars, Bones. Nothing to be ashamed about.” Bones raises an eyebrow.

Stopping in front of the biobed, Jim takes a moment to remove his—what Bones now realizes is—bloodstained shirt. When that useless scrap of fabric is tossed to the side (not without a wince and a hiss of pain from yours truly), Jim turns around and hops onto the table.

Long (and worryingly deep) scratches trail over Jim’s shoulders and down his back, over and over again like something had been gripping for purchase. _Someone_ , Bones belatedly thinks. He’s about to be concerned when he takes another look at what used to be Jim’s shirt.

“There’s no tears,” he states rather bluntly. 

Jim glances between his “shirt” and the doctor and shrugs. “I only slipped it back on for decency.” 

Bones fails to point out that the entire crew has probably seen Captain Kirk’s bare chest enough times that they could pick him out from an entire line of individuals by his nipples alone, if not through… any other appendages.

“Look, Jim: if you’re going to have fun, I’d appreciate not having a little post-coital meeting enough times to answer your sexual activity status myself.”

Jim—to his credit—looks mildly horrified for just a moment before he throws his head back and laughs. “This was strictly a diplomatic mission — you should know that, at least. There was… a small ritual involved in gaining their trust.” He only laughs harder when Bones squeezes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“You know, when you said you’d do anything for a mission, I didn’t think that would include _ceremonial exhibitionism_ ,” Bones mutters. Jim finally laughs hard enough to make the gashes sting, so he tapers off with a whine.

“No, no, you’ve got the whole thing wrong,” he shakes his head, unable to quell the hiss that escapes as Bones actually begins to clean his wounds with an antiseptic. “It was essentially a wrestling match.”

Bones raises an eyebrow again. “Which you so _happened_ to be— _conveniently—_ shirtless for.” 

“It was part of the tradition,” Jim sighs, and then bites out an “ _ow_ ” when Bones gives a particularly harsh wipe. “Didn’t realize they had claws until it was too late.”

“I know I said I’d like to see your shirts in one piece, but soaked with bodily fluids isn’t that much better.”

While searching for extra gauze and antibacterial spread, Bones can’t help but wonder what other testimonials of the event he’ll be able to collect.

* * *

  
  


When Jim walks into his office after shore leave, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck, Bones is expecting a detailed story of a hilarious mishap. (Jim is not smug enough for another prank gift, and not casual enough for an actual peace offering).

What Bones is _not_ expecting are the huge, welt-like hickies that curl around Jim’s neck when he puts his arm down.

“I don’t want to hear about it,” he says preemptively, pointing his PADD stylus at Jim as he goes back to his reading.

Jim is already taking off his shirt. “I’m in _pain_ , Bones.”

And lo and behold, smattered across his chest and shoulders and back are even larger sucker welts, almost comical in their depiction. They seem to continue underneath his waistband, too. It _does_ look pretty painful, he’ll admit.

“I’m not giving you antihistamines every time you explore your masochistic side,” he sighs, removing the data card from the computer to stand up and lead Jim to the examination room. 

Jim gasps with just a touch of overdramatics. “This was _not_ a sex thing.”

“ _Poppycock_. I know what hentai is, Jim.”

Groaning, Jim hovers near the examination table but doesn’t bother sitting down. “I’ll admit, there were tentacles involved, but they were malicious with intent.” He drops his pants without any further ado.

Bones eyes the welts that trail around his legs, circling up into his inner thighs where his standard-issue briefs begin. 

“ _Why do I even bother,_ ” Bones grumbles to himself, rummaging around a supply closet. He feels like the welts around Jim’s neck should have been a dead giveaway. 

“It was a bar fight!” Jim exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air. “I wasn’t even at fault: he apparently recognized my face and had some imaginary bone to pick!”

“Tell that to the rest of the crew on Alpha shift,” Bones says before jabbing his friend in the neck with a hypo.

* * *

  
  


Half a shirt—while not uncommon—is usually a cause for some concern regarding Jim. Nonetheless, he’s beaming as he makes his way into Sickbay.

“I hope nothing life-threatening happened while communications were down,” Bones says, tearing his eyes away to swivel around and give the captain a preliminary examination. 

Wrapped around Jim’s arms—which are held open in greeting (and probably in a wordless request)—are ropeburns.

Bones turns back to his work.

“Aw, don’t be like that, Bones,” Jim coos. He moves into his line of sight and sits on the corner of his desk. “I’m here to get treatment from our _lovely_ ship surgeon.”

“When you put it like that, I think I’m a bit overqualified,” Bones grumbles, but stands nonetheless, relenting to his duties. Grabbing Jim’s limp wrist, he holds his arm up to idly inspect the damage that’s been done. “How many times do I have to tell you to use treated hemp rope so we don’t have to have this conversation again?”

Jim’s eyes are innocently wide. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I thought this was just a routine survey, I didn’t think you’d have enough time to chat up the local population.”

He shrugs. “The ion storm lasted long enough for me to be taken hostage.”

“You were _kidnapped?_ ” Bones balks, holding bandages and soothing salve in the air. Blinking, his gaze flickers back to the burns in question. “I _do_ know what shibari looks like, Jim.”

“How do _you_ know so much about bondage?” Bones raises _both_ of his eyebrows at his friend. “Nevermind, don’t answer that.”

“I’m well versed in the ways of bondage _because_ of people like you,” Bones answers anyway, taking advantage of how Jim lifts his arms to cover his face when he groans to start treating the wounds.

“It was their way of restraining me when they knocked me out,” Jim tries to explain, patiently holding up his arms for Bones to move this way and that. “They’re quite advanced for their evolutionary development, but they rely heavily on natural materials. Ensign Roberto tried to take a sample of a prevalent semi-sentient plant that is revered in that subculture, so Gharajheet humanoids took me hostage.”

Bones stares at him for a few seconds, absently re-rolling the bandage in his hands.

“You still haven’t convinced me that it wasn’t kinky,” he decides, leaving the room before Jim can respond.

* * *

  
  


Okay, so, it’s not _always_ right after Jim beams back aboard.

Sometimes, accidents happen _on_ board.

Bones knows he’s coming because he had been commed only moments before. Jim had been… unusually bashful. Not only that, but he was _flushed_ , the rosy tint on his cheeks accentuating the colour of his eyes. He had called in to see if Bones was still in Sickbay (he was, because where else would he be on this godforsaken flying hunk of space metal) and then assured him he’d be there as soon as he could. 

As he waits, Bones tries to read some papers, even tries to work on those patient files that have been stacked to the side to be edited for god knows how long, but at some point he simply gives up and waits in the main bay with his arms crossed.

The Sickbay doors swish open, and Jim waddles in.

 _Waddles_.

Jim doesn’t even stop, flashing Bones a shameful smile as he makes a beeline to the first private examination room. Bones stands there for a moment simply gaping at his figure before rushing along behind him.

“I thought you had a vow against sleeping with the crew,” Bones says as soon as the doors shut behind him. Jim, from where he’s very pointedly _not_ sitting on the examination table, looks honest to god _confused_ for a moment.

“Oh,” he says. “No, it’s not that.” Bones belatedly realizes he doesn’t deny the suggestion because he’s momentarily distracted with how Jim is mirroring him, with his arms crossed, lip bitten, and weight shifting from foot to foot.

“Well slap my ass and call me Captain,” Bones murmurs, shaking his head. “You finally did it. You _fucked the ship_.”

“ _WHAT?_ ” Jim cries, eyes wide. Bones isn’t listening, already muttering to himself.

“ _—and I’ve already told you that it was a bad idea, at least I’ve hammered it deep enough into Scotty’s psyche—_ ”

Jim storms (waddles) forward and grabs Bones firmly by the shoulders.

“I did _not…_ f—” Jim glances upwards for divine intervention and takes a deep breath, “—I did not _sleep…_ with the Enterprise.”

Bones peers at him suspiciously, raising one skeptical eyebrow. “As your _doctor_ , Jim, let me remind you that I am _required—_ ”

“I was _constipated_ ,” Jim blurts out, and then withers when Bones gapes at him incredulously. “The diplomatic mission on Rita Beta,” he attempts to explain, falling silent while he lets Bones connect the dots.

They had just entered warp speed away from a short mission on the largely-aquatic planet of Rita Beta (with a water coverage of about 97%, as opposed to Earth’s 71%). At the end of negotiations, the Ritans had invited the Federation representatives for a huge feast; however, because the sentient beings they were dealing with primarily reside in deeper waters, most of the meal was carnivorous (with many land-animal delicacies due to the prestige involved). Spock was able to take a pass due to his delicate Vulcanian stomach, but, in his charming but deadly politeness for eating everything on his plate, Kirk practically had to be rolled out of the transporter room, having also consumed ludicrous amounts of an alcoholic beverage that had been freely offered.

Basically, there had been no fibre in sight.

Bringing his hand to his mouth to smother his laughter—feigning deep thought—Bones begins to piece together Jim’s actions over the course of the past few minutes.

“And your constipation gave you rectal tearing,” Bones makes a valiant effort to maintain his professional voice. Jim looks absolutely miserable.

“Just tell me what you can do; preferably, I’d like to be able to sit in the chair in two shifts.”

Bones, unable to contain it any longer, doubles over laughing.

* * *

  
  


Then again, it doesn’t _always_ happen onboard. 

It’s still technically Sickbay. _A_ Sickbay. It’s where Bones is spending all of his time, at least.

They’re currently assisting a newly-established colony on a planet they _thought_ was uninhabited (now, they’re thinking it’s probably abandoned). Bones has leant a helping hand with the sick and injured in the colony, and is just finishing up with his last patient for the day when the scouting party tentatively shuffles into his temporary Sickbay. Disposing of his gloves into a biohazard bin, he waves the colonist away and waits for someone to approach.

They all exchange apprehensive glances, like Bones has pointy ears or something.

“Captain, I believe you should be the first examined, as the highest-ranking individual,” Spock says, his hands clasped formally behind his back. _Probably not pointy ears, then_ . His posture is almost a little _too_ straight.

Bones doesn’t miss how Jim’s eyes widen a touch before he sighs, relaxing into what is supposed to be an easy-going smile. Huffing, Bones rolls his eyes: he’s not _that_ easily fooled.

“Bones!” Jim greets, stepping forward with his arms outstretched. “ _How are you?_ ”

“Worse, thank you.”

“ _That’s no way to welcome a good friend._ ” His smile is becoming strained. Only now does Bones notice how stilted his gait is.

“What did you do this time,” Bones deadpans. He had heard that their scouting group had become trapped for a period of time in a cave-like structure, and while he worried for the first few hours, after plenty of evidence that they were fine despite being unable to escape, Bones decided the anxiety wasn’t worth it for this kind of a situation.

Maybe he _should’ve_ retained some of that worry.

Jim gestures to him like he’s handing over a spotlight, so Bones begrudgingly reaches for his tricorder.

As readings begin to list, Bones hits the side of the device with his palm. Looking between the readout and Jim, then down to the readout, and then back up to Jim again, Bones squints his eyes as he tries to piece together the information that he’s been given.

“Stalactites don’t make very good dildos,” Bones takes a wild guess. Jim chokes.

“No, I- _No!_ ” The other security officers appear to wait with patient dread, and Spock _is_ looking a little green. “Just… Just scan the others too,” he sighs, waving his hand at the men behind him.

Curious, Bones stands up and creeps towards them, scanning each of them with his tricorder. 

And each and every time, the readout diagnoses an entire cocktail of sexually transmitted infections within each person. Spock even has a few strains he doesn’t recognize.

Bones raises a finger and takes a deep breath, and it’s like the entire room breathes with him.

“ _Orgy_ ,” he guesses again.

“ _No_ ,” everyone echoes back at him.

“Well, I wouldn’t put it past you,” he grumbles (mostly at Jim). Gesturing them to the set-up biobeds, he meanders over to where he keeps the antibiotic hyposprays.

Jim sighs again, lingering by a biobed but refraining from sitting down. “We stumbled upon an archive of some kind. Medical, obviously, and badly kept. When we were first trapped, some of the samples broke and we were exposed to the bacteria — we weren’t even aware of it for an hour or two.”

“One point six nine hours, Captain,” Spock dutifully hums. Jim absently acknowledges his contribution with a hand wave and a “thank you, Spock.” 

“Either way, I think we got lucky. When they first found us, they said some miners had stumbled upon a similar alcove, but with something a bit more deadly.”

Bones, ever inquisitive as he is, is mildly interested in the prospect of safely retrieving samples from these archives for research purposes. Nevertheless, he currently has another issue on his hands.

“Lucky or not, you’ll all be staying here for a while as we clean your systems, so get snug,” Bones says, armed with a handful of hypos. Everyone eyes them rather warily.

“Will you tell us _what_ we’ve been infected with?” Ensign Mendez asks, so Bones zeroes in on him first.

“Listen here, _Dark and Syphilis_ : if you want the complete readout, I’ll have it on your desk, double spaced, twelve-point _Times New Roman_ font, at eight o’clock sharp next morning, alright?” he grouches, injecting the hypo into his bare shoulder.

Bones then wanders to Commander Hartmann, nodding and waving his hand aimlessly as he walks. “ _Old Genital... Herpes-Fashioned…_ ” The hypo is taken with a glare. “ _Whatever_.”

Setting the two empty hypos to the side, he dual-wields his last two, closing in on Jim and Spock like a predator on its prey.

“ _Gonorrhea Mule,_ ” he decides with a nod to Spock, “or as _I_ like to call it,” he stabs Spock with a hypo, “ _Clapass._ ”

Jim only looks mildly amused. “Do I get a fun name too?”

“Of course, _Chlamydia on the Beach_.”

The last hypo is jabbed into Jim’s neck.

* * *

  
  


Bones scribbles something onto his PADD before closing the data card open on his computer and switching it out with another.

It’s been quiet as of late; Bones can almost hear himself think. The only company he gets is that of Nurse Chapel, Doctor M’Benga, and Doctor Sanchez, but even so, they’re spending most of their time in the labs.

Okay, so maybe the silence _isn’t_ a bad thing. Bones doodles a small diagram underneath his scribbled notes.

Currently, they are in a smooth warp drive across a well-traveled space way, transporting dangerous cargo from one sector to another. Sure, the retrieval of the cargo about a week ago now was stressful, but they are done with that part of the mission, and the transportation should be a relaxing couple dozen stardates all the way. In fact, most people have been taking advantage of the leisure time: Bones has been working on a space psychology paper on multispecial crews he’s been putting off for too long now. It's just... well, he'd be lying if he said he didn't at least partially enjoy the adrenaline that comes with a new case to solve or the rush to give life something more secure to hold onto.

 _Suedfeld, Wilk, Cassel → distinction between multinational crews, *social relations and COPING STRATEGIES (Earth date: August 2007)._ Tapping the stylus against the table, Bones frowns at his PADD for a second before taking the data card and setting it in its own pile. He takes another sip of his synthesized coffee (which, thankfully, has some _actual_ rum in there somewhere).

Jim has also been taking advantage of the rest period: so far, he had given Sulu and Scotty control of the ship for a few days, and while that is generally unusual for someone like Jim, the job is nothing more than a seat warming position at the moment. Bones briefly worried that he was sick and hiding it again, but with a few messages, Jim had assured him that he was just busy. Once or twice, Bones had even dropped by for a visit, but his friend was always out. Jim reassured him that he'd see him soon, so Bones let the subject drop.

As Bones scrawls down a note about culture over heritage, the doors to the Sickbay open and close.

“I’ll be right with you,” he calls out as he finishes writing down his thought. When he glances up to peek at his new patient, he freezes.

Jim is dragging himself into the Sickbay and crawling up to settle on top of the nearest biobed. He smiles (grimaces?) as brightly as he possibly can when he notices Bones staring.

“Jim?” Bones croaks.

“Hey Bones,” he chirps, way too jovial for someone in the state that he’s in. Which is really something Bones should be addressing. He stands from his spot very suddenly.

Jim is _littered_ in bruises. He groans when he sets himself down onto the biobed, and Bones notes how he gingerly lays himself to the side . His hair is mussed so that it sticks up in every direction, and while his shirt seems relatively fresh, plenty of marks trail down underneath the fabric. Not only that, but he’s very obviously physically exhausted.

“I think I ruptured an airway,” Jim rasps, and then, looking at the bruises wrapped around his wrist: “This might be sprained, too.”

“What _happened_ , Jim?” Bones goggles, already hooking up the instruments to his friend and running diagnostics. “... Was it the cargo?”

“ _No… no_ ,” Jim shakes his head slowly. He’s grinning too dopily for someone who should be in a lot of pain. Bones glances at the data that’s already available.

“Your system is completely flushed with endorphins,” he muses, eyeing Jim suspiciously. Jim only hums contentedly. Bones narrows his eyes further at the readings. “... And it says you’re still on muscle relaxants.”

Jim nods lazily.

Bracing himself, Bones asks: “So what in Sam Hill _happened_ to you, Jim?”

He shrugs, eyelids already heavy. “The stress… came earlier… only half-Vulcan…”

Dread fills Bones, and he begins to eye something dried in Jim’s hair with increasing incredulity.“Jim,” he gulps, hoping— _praying_ —that what he’s beginning to piece together is not true. _“What happened?_ ”

“Spock.”

Bones frowns. “ _Sp-?_ ”

Before he can actually get any words out of his mouth, the doors to the Sickbay swish open and closed again, and there’s someone standing rigidly by the entrance. Even though he’s considerably more put-together than Jim is, Bones can tell what’s happening simply by the scattered look Spock is giving the Captain.

“ _Spock_ ,” Jim says, and his expression absolutely melts into the softest beam as he gazes at his second-in-command. 

“ _Lord help me,_ ” Bones mutters.

“I was unaware you made it to Sickbay alright, Ji- _Captain_ ,” Spock says. Jim waves off the formality with his… better hand.

“Of course I did,” he murmurs.

Spock gulps. “It was… a rather physically exhausting few days for you.”

“Days? _Days?_ ” Bones cries, partially to remind the two that they have company. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Right. Of _course_ you damn _have_ to spend both pon farrs with Jim.”

“Not dead this time,” Jim adds rather unhelpfully.

“Yes, of _course_ not!” Bones says in disbelief.

“I am… glad to hear you are being cared for,” Spock tells Jim, striding up to him to brush his two fingers against the other's; even though they had most definitely been fucking like rabbits the entire time Bones has been cooped up in Sickbay with his academic papers, the intimacy of the lingering touch is what really throws him off (though—like most things Jim and Spock—it is not unexpected). 

“Don’t get your hopes up too high,” Bones rolls his eyes before pointing to another biobed. “While I _precariously_ drag Jim from death, I’ll need to give you an examination too.” Nodding once, Spock actually listens to the doctor.

In the future, Bones vows to actively try and _avoid_ insisting for all of the nitty-gritty details that lead to Jim’s Sickbay visits.

**Author's Note:**

> and then he immediately breaks that vow because who are we kidding
> 
> yeah so i did actually try to look up southern exclamations for bones, and upon seeing "slap my ass and call me sally" i went HAHAHAHAHAAH BONES WOULD SAY THAT but upon realizing the site actually shows you how to modify it, i had a stroke of sleep-deprived genius and that's how i got... that. 
> 
> and yes, the hentai line absolutely obliterated me the second it entered my brain too.
> 
> [i'm jimtitkirk on tumblr](https://jimtitkirk.tumblr.com/)
> 
> you can also find me on my [main blog](https://universalsatan.tumblr.com/) and my [writing blog](https://celestialberries.tumblr.com/).


End file.
